


Love Makes Me Want To Hate The World

by Phoenixflames12



Series: Outlander WW2 AU: Next Generation Oneshots [5]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 23:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflames12/pseuds/Phoenixflames12
Summary: March 1946After his return to Lallybroch, Faith tends to Albert through the worst of his fever





	Love Makes Me Want To Hate The World

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place just before the beginning of chapter 25 of Vergangenheit and is written for week 37 of gotham_ruaidh's writing workshop over on Tumblr

** March 1946 **

 

On the evening of the second day, since he had fallen into Jamie’s arms in the hallway, Claire pronounces Albert out of any immediate danger.

 

On the third day, his bandages have been changed and with her Mam's help, Faith has administered another Penicillin shot, thankful beyond measure for Sister MacDonald's foresight in pressing some fresh, full syringes of the antibiotic into her hands when she had left the station.

 

The wide, slanted features are still hollow from hunger, the full, dark lashes that hide his wide, slanted eyes lying still against his cheek.

 

He looks impossibly young, Faith thinks for the umpteenth time. Younger than she remembers him being back into those distant days of 1942 when she had seen him up close for the first time in the confusion of the evacuation from Lubeck, his German accent making the Scots vowels that are as natural to her as breathing sound strange and otherworldly.

 

The faint beginning of a moustache lingers across the top of Albert's upper lip, the dark stubble prickling against her touch as she dabs at it with a damp cloth, watching his Adam’s Apple strain against a breath to reach the water.

 

Beneath the bedroom, the familiar hubbub of the family going about their day-to-day business feels muffled, as if the room is somehow set apart, on a distant plane far from the goings-on of normal life.

 

If she listens closely, Faith can hear the whistle of the kettle mingled with the hum of the wireless, the creak of her Da's study door opening, the thud of it being pulled to. Thinks too that she can hear her Mam ask Brianna something, but cannot make out the words.

 

It is as if her world has shrunk, compressing itself entirely to the four walls of the North Bedroom.

 

Her world is a window that looks onto indistinct splashes of brown, green and purple views splashed out over the moor with the straight-backed chair sitting underneath, the washstand, with its' Delft, painted soap dish and chipped sink and a stained mirror reflecting back at nothing.

 

Her world is what she can see before her.

 

It is a cream towel in her lap, her Mam's tiny paraffin stove that had been handed down to her by her Uncle Lamb where a small saucepan of hot water infused with lavender and dried honeysuckle from the still room rafters slowly simmers.

 

It is the shifting light that plays across the young man's face, the weight of work-worn hands that are now damp with sweat tight in hers as calloused fingers struggle against the grip of the fever.

 

Her eyes sting with exhaustion.

 

Her lips are dry from lack of moisture and she licks them tentatively, feeling the bloody cracks sharp against her tongue.

 

The span of her shoulders is tight with knots from sitting still for too long, but the need to get up and stretch them out is overpowered entirely by the need to be near him.

 

Instead, she presses close, her thumb pressed firmly against his wrist, counting the slowly steadying thrum of his pulse that floods up against their joined skin.

 

'Come back to me, _mo ghraidh_.'

 

The plea is a broken whisper that is lost against her tongue.

 

From outside the bedroom door, she thinks she can hear the soft tread of footsteps, the intake of breath as they retreat from the entrance to her sanctuary.

 

Brianna, the part of her mind that is still connected to the outside world, thinks.

 

Brianna or William sent up here on an errand to bring her downstairs into a world that had ceased to exist when Albert had gathered her into his arms in the smoke-filled dusk of the train station.

 

She does not wish to go.

 

Her world is here, shrunken down to the confines of this room and the man in her care and she will not leave him.

 

Slowly, she reaches down to press a soft, unseen kiss against his cheek, her lips burning with salt, tears that she does not wish to shed pricking painfully against her eyelids.

 

The hand that is clasped in hers' shifts slightly at the pressure of the kiss, the long fingers pressing in a ghost of the grip that she remembers.

 

'Albert?'

 

A flicker of something that she cannot read passes fleetingly across his face at the sound of his name.

 

The long, dark lashes flutter against his eyes, a slow breath pulled through his lungs.

 

'Albert, it's Nurse... It's Faith Fraser. Can ye hear me?'

 

Her voice is higher than she had expected it to be, the hope and fear of expectation flooding her heart in a tidal wave of warmth.

 

She presses his hand again, feeling the weight of his body pull through broad bones, the weight of his shoulder blades pushing back against the headboard of the bed.

 

Slowly, she loosens her hold, letting his body come back, his fingers digging into her palm for grip.

 

He blinks, the action sluggish as the deep hazel eyes that she has loved and longed for far too long slowly coming alive.

 

A question burns in the depths of that tawny fire, but she does not want to answer it just yet.

 

Instead, she tries for a tiny smile and murmurs:

 

'Welcome back.'  

 

* * *

 

 

_**Fin** _

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to read and review!
> 
> Comments, suggestions, questions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
> 
> Much love and enjoy x


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